


Serendipity

by wishingwellwriting



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Alcohol, F/M, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Song Lyrics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-04
Updated: 2020-06-04
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:36:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24544744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wishingwellwriting/pseuds/wishingwellwriting
Summary: Reader had been away for two years and expected to have a one night stand to take their mind off what happened the last time they were in DC. What they didn't expect was the reason they left.
Relationships: Spencer Reid/Reader
Kudos: 15





	Serendipity

**Author's Note:**

> This is post season 12, pre season 13.
> 
> This is the first CM fic I've ever written.

The first thing I notice heading into the bar is the lack of noise. There’s soft rock playing on the radio, and there’s smoke in the air that curls around like a spirit, but it’s empty. A few couples sit in the corner booths, and one lone man sits at the bar, back to the door. Dangerous, I think. To not see when anyone walks in, to have yourself so open and vulnerable. His brown hair curls over the collar of his shirt, his shoulders tense, and I can tell from here that he’s sweaty, his jack strewn haphazardly over the chair to his right. His head tilts back as the shot slides down his throat and I chuckle. He’s experienced.

I let the door slide closed behind me, and shrug off my jacket. Charlie calls from behind the bar, “You want your usual, (y/n)?”

I shake my head. “Tonight’s a rough one. Surprise me.” I take my seat at the other end of the bar, giving the stranger some space. Besides, danger isn’t my thing and nor is vulnerability. Charlie slides a shot down to me and I toast to the air with a grin. “Here’s to a better night than I deserve.”

I glance down the bar to the man who’s now slumped over, top buttons of his shirt undone and sleeves pushed up like his skin can’t get enough exposure, like the air is the only thing keeping him calm. 

“You look worse than I feel,” I remark to the man, a small smile on my face, shot untouched in my hand. There’s something about him I can’t place.. He picks his head up at that and I stifle a gasp, and I know why he felt familiar. He immediately stands up and stumbles towards the door, trying to move faster than his drunken feet can keep up, and pushes himself out the door. I flash Charlie an apologetic face and chase after him, leaving my jacket behind. 

“Spencer!” I call out, my feet moving towards the car burned in my memory that I know well enough to know it’s his. “You can’t leave like this, please.”

“Why are you here?” He slurs out. “You left. You’re not here. I am.” He slumps against the parking meter, his hands reaching in his pockets for keys I know Charlie took from him. I reach out to him and he flinches away from me, as if my fingertips would unlock his heart more than he’s willing to allow.

“Spencer…” I falter, not knowing how to explain that his name has been inscribed on my soul for years, not knowing how to apologize for ripping away his stability. “I’m sorry.”

He laughs, a short bark and stares at me with piercing eyes as he lurches towards me. “You're sorry? For what? After all, you just saved  _ yourself. _ ” That hurts, that feels like a knife to my chest, and I know my face shows it because he sobers up, just a little. He steps back to lean against the meter again and stuffs his hands back in his pockets, this time as a shield instead of a search.

“I had to.” I whisper, stepping back and wrapping my arms around myself. I find myself wishing I had my jacket, but not for the cold, wishing for something to protect me. “You weren’t there, you didn’t see.”

“I could’ve protected you!” He screams, and it’s half a sob and half a threat. His shirt is slipping off of his shoulders and he looks broken. His eyes have something behind them now, and I notice his weight shifts away from his right leg. 

“Let me take you home.” I beg, taking another step towards him, testing the waters. “Let me take care of you.” Another tentative step, and he doesn’t move. His eyes meet mine and all he says is a whimper of “(y/n)...” before his knees hit the ground. I rush forward and hoist him up, as close to him as I’ve been in two years. I swear I can hear his heartbeat and his skin burns hotter than ever before. 

“Spencer, what have you done to yourself?” I keep the tears back and I walk him to my car, opening my passenger side door, unceremoniously shoving him in and closing the door. I step back for a second and shake my head. Two years and the man I once loved is a crumbling mess before me. Two years and my heartbreak isn’t the only one on stage. 

I climb into the car and he’s got his back against the seat, staring straight ahead. I get a good look at him in the light pouring in from the streetlights and I see the tell-tale signs for what they are. Jaunt cheekbones and bruises peeking out from his sleeves and dark veins and eyes that look like they’ve forgotten the bliss of closing. I bite my lip and hold back tears, and I mirror him, refusing to see, refusing to accept. I can hear his soft sobs and I think about saying something, about begging him to look at me and really see me for the first time in two years, but I don’t. I never have. 

When I do speak up, it’s simple. “Do you still live in the same place?” I think it’s neutral. I think it’s a small stepping stone. But Spencer explodes in a way I am not expecting, wracking sobs through his body and when I turn to look, his hands are over his head, defending and protecting himself. Through the cries I hear my name, “(Y/n)!” and I take yet another risk and pull him in, wrapping my arms around his shoulders and shushing him, running my hand over his hair, doing every last thing I can to bring him an ounce of peace. 

What have I done? My body feels like ice and fire, and he lets his hands drop and falls into my chest. His fingers creep across my arms like he’s asking for permission, and all at once he wraps his arms around me, and our bodies close the last bit of space left in the car. Our breath has fogged up the windows and I feel like laughing, remembering the last time we were here. He looks up at me and our eyes meet for the third time that night, and for the first time, he sees me. 

“Spencer.” I say quietly after his tears have slowed to a stop and his breath is the only thing left shaking. “Let me take you home.” I reach a hand out to wipe his face, and he flinches under my touch at first. “Please.” I beg.

He nods, and manages to say, “Do you still have your key?” and that’s when the laughter bubbles out of me and I feel insane. He stares at me slack jawed as I laugh and cry and let my tears fall over his shoulders. 

“I’m sorry, I just- of course I do, Spencer. What was I going to do with it?” We both sit in silence after that, picturing me tossing it off a bridge or mailing it back to him with no return address. Both things that I thought about doing, but never had the courage to follow through with. After all, it was an apartment key, not a wedding ring. 

He doesn’t comment on what I should’ve done. All he says is, “I never changed the locks.” and I crank the car. The rain starts pouring as I pull off the side of the street, and I almost smile. Rain. The start of something new, washing away the past. But we’re in the car, and the rain can’t touch us here. So I reach for the radio, and so does he. He pulls back first, and I flip to the station he always listened to in my car. You’d never know it, but he has a secret love for the top 40. I recognize the song, and a wry smile spreads over my face. 

_ I've missed your calls for months it seems _

_ Don't realize how mean I can be _

_ 'Cause I can sometimes treat the people _

_ That I love like jewelry _

Neither of us talk the whole way home, but we both think so much that when the car door opens, I breathe a sigh of relief. He’s sober enough to walk now, so he opens his door and pulls himself out of the car. He leaves the door open for a moment and looks at me as if to say, “Are we doing this?” and I sigh, shut off the car, and get out. I follow him in the building, tracing the walls with my fingertips, up the stairs to the door, to his door, and just as I’m handing him the keys, he stops. 

“(Y/n/n), you don’t have to come in with me, you don’t have to take care of me.” Hearing my nickname, I look down at his outstretched hand, at the bruises dotting his arm, and I look back at him. 

“Yes, Spencer, I do.” And he takes that, for all it is. He takes the keys from my hand and he unlocks the door, and I gasp. It’s almost a mess. His things are thrown around everywhere, books lying open and takeout bags littering the kitchen counter. But my sweater is across the back of my favorite armchair where I left it, and my designated shelf of books has a fine layer of dust. I step in and my old blue peacoat is still on the coat rack. My old running shoes are neatly pressed in the corner, and his converse are scattered next to them.

He follows my eyes and says, “I couldn’t bear to move them. To move you.” I simply nod and seemingly tonight is the night I continue to choke back tears. I stand awkwardly by the door and he sits, perching on the edge of his couch.

“I don’t know what I’m doing here.” I admit, fidgeting with the strap of my bag.

“In our- my apartment?” He asks carefully. He looks hurt.

I wince. “In DC.” My toes curl in my boots and I find myself wishing I had worn more comfortable shoes. Truth be told, I didn’t expect to be wearing them this long. The intent was to pick someone up and forget all about potentially seeing Spencer Reid. After all, of all the bars in DC, he just happened to be at Charlie’s? He looks less hurt at this, but he still looks at his feet. The black converse adorning his feet are split on the sides and they don’t match his slacks and the open silk dress shirt he’s wearing, and it hits me why.

I gesture towards his feet and I say, “Are those…?” I trail off, but he knows what I mean.

“Yours? Yeah, (y/n/n), they’re yours.” He snaps, looking more sad than his voice sounds.

I flinch and it’s all I can do to whisper, “They’re too small for you.” And he almost laughs, but he just gives me a small smile.

“(y/n/n)?” He asks, testing the waters, and I inch closer to him. “Why’d you leave?”

I stop. “What?” My breath is cold, and for a moment, I think he’s joking. But then I see how small he looks, how scared. “You know I had to. I couldn’t…I couldn’t see her everywhere, Spencer.” I furrow my brow and take another step toward him. 

“I could’ve helped you.” 

“You’re not that kind of doctor, Spence.” I say softly, letting my feet take yet another step. The nickname hits him and he closes his eyes, like he’s relishing in the pain. 

He looks at me and laughs. “The bureau has resources, I have resources, (y/n/n). You didn’t need to go through it all alone.” 

He’s right. I didn’t have to. But after my parents died, Julia couldn’t take it anymore. “Julia needed those, not me.” I bite, not meaning to lash out at him but finding myself unable to stop. Spencer stands, and he takes a step towards me, and without thinking, I follow suit. Somehow, he’s taller than I remember. He reaches out and tucks my hair behind my ear, and it’s nearly enough to bring me down. 

“You didn’t need to go through it all alone.” He echoes.

I look him in the eyes and consider kissing him, but instead I blurt out, “When did you start taking Dilaudid again?” and he’s crushed. He steps away from me, turning around and pulls his sleeves down, and his body language changes. He shuts down again. 

“You weren’t here, (y/n).” I step towards him again, startled by the sudden change to my full name and he whirls around and screams at me, “You weren’t here!” Shocked, I stumble backwards. He walks towards his bedroom, what used to be our bedroom, and he flings the door shut. 

“Spence, please! Please don’t shut me out.” I sink to the floor, my knees hitting the wood and for the first time since we got here I realize it is  _ cold _ in here. It’s cold without him here. I’m cold without him here. I wrap my arms around myself and my eyes dart to my peacoat and then suddenly, his door swings open. 

He throws a cardboard box at me, and seethes, “Open it!” and when I don’t, he crosses to me, pulls me up by my elbow and says, “I said open it.” With shaking hands, I lift the flaps of the box and I am met with the view of at least 20 empty vials and more needles than I can count. I look up at him, begging him to tell me that this isn’t real, that I didn’t drive him to this.

“I made it four months without you before I was begging for the drugs, (y/n).” He spits your name out like it’s poison, but not the kind he fills his veins with, and lets go of your arm. 

“Spencer...I never wanted this, I never wanted to leave you.” Tears are streaming down my face and I drop the box, trying to move towards him. 

“You did! You left…you left me.” And now he’s crying, and we are both shuffling towards each other and he reaches out one hand to cradle my face. “I would’ve gone with you.”

“Spencer, I never could’ve asked you to leave, to leave the BAU, your family.” My breath is shaky and my body acts against my mind and closes the gap, my fingers reaching out to lace themselves behind the small of his back. 

He smiles a small smile, awkward and sad, and says, “You wouldn’t have had to ask. I would’ve given up everything for you. You gave up everything here, too.” I laugh, and his tears fall on my face.

“Spencer Reid, you idiot, you were my everything.” And he smiles again, a real, happy and love-filled smile, and he dips down to kiss me, and for the first time in two years, everything is okay. 

_ But I still know your birthday _

_ And your mother's favorite song _


End file.
